


Post Love

by InkFire_Scribe



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Genderswapped Hobbit, Rule 63, also Frodo is her son, fem!Bilbo, girl!Bilbo, the hobbit is a lady
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFire_Scribe/pseuds/InkFire_Scribe
Summary: After the Quest for Erebor is accomplished, Billa Baggins goes back home, but was that really what she wanted? (Spoiler: No, it's not what she wanted at all.)In which love letters are written, hobbit inheritance law is complicated, and I screw with Bilbo's family tree to make things more fun.Updates on Wednesdays.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 19
Kudos: 121





	1. Finding the Letters

"You know, you'll need to take a look sooner or later." Meriadoc nudged his cousin and tilted his head significantly toward the door of the abandoned study. It had belonged to the lady of the house and she had barred entry to any other individual, even to clean. The one time she had caught Frodo in the study, she had given him such a look of disappointment (and also such an amount of weeding to do) that he had never dared to enter it ever again. Even a full six months after his mother's departure from the Shire, the door was still closed. 

"I know. I guess I just... it's silly. But she never liked me to be in there." 

"Then she shouldn't have left you all she owned. It's yours now." Meriadoc gave him another nudge, stronger this time, urging him toward the door. "Come on. Let's just get it over with. It's nearly your birthday, and people will be marching through here whether you want them to or not." 

Frodo grimaced, knowing his cousin was right. It still wasn't something he was looking forward to. With a sigh, he got to his feet, giving the fire one last poke before reluctantly leaving the sitting room and crossing the hall to his mother's old study. She had been a proprietary old bat sometimes, but she had also been the most loving and wonderful mother he could have asked for. She had taught him nearly everything he knew, excepting how to string up a hammock in the perfect amount of shade. That had been his father's favorite lesson, and one he thought needed to be taught several times a year. 

The old wooden door, heavy with the decorative brass ribbing that curled artfully at the rounded corners and about the handle, squeaked in protest, but opened readily enough, swinging into the study and releasing the heavy, ticklish smell of dust. No one had been in the room since his mother had left, and it showed. A layer of dust covered almost everything. Almost, because there was a glass cover over a single Very Important Thing. A large red book on the desk. It looked like she'd taken a glass cake cover and placed it carefully over the book, protecting it from the dust of neglect over the weeks and months. 

"She knew you pretty well, didn't she?" asked Meri, grinning over his cousin's shoulder. "She knew you wouldn't come in anytime soon. Let's take a look at that book, eh? Then we can work on dusting and things."

That seemed like as good an order to do things in as any, so Frodo picked his way carefully across the thick braided rug and lifted the cover off the book. Its red leather cover was still soft and smelled faintly of the binding glue she'd used for the spine. As he lifted it, an envelope slipped out from between the pages and fell to the rug with a soft, dusty thump. Frodo stared down at it for a long moment before he picked it up. 

"It's addressed to you," whispered Meri, his eyes wide and shining with excitement. "Open it." 

"Not in here." Frodo suddenly felt that the study, no matter how many times he entered or how long she was gone, would always be his mother's. 

Only once they were safely in the sitting room with the study door closed did he set down the red book and break the seal on the envelope, shaking out the letter within. Despite its apparent weight and thickness, the note inside was actually quite short. 

_ Dear Frodo, _

_ There are still many things I haven't told you, and I'm afraid I shall never have the courage to do so. I have been a coward all my life, and I'm going to ask you to help me fix it. Along with this note, you'll find a map and a second sealed letter. Study the map - it will show you the way if you ever choose to find him. Send the letter. He deserves to know. _

_ Your Loving Mother, _

_ BB _

Frodo read the note twice, then looked at the other things in his hand. A sealed letter, as she had said, and a yellowed map, showing a path out of the Shire, across the Wilds, over the Misty Mountains, through an enormous forest, and to a single lonely peak near a thin lake. He gasped, gripping the paper tightly. 

"What?" Meri looked from the map to his cousin, eager to know what had made him react so. 

"This... this is a map to the Lonely Mountain, where she went on the Quest. She wants me to go find... him?" He looked back at the note again, frowning quizzically. "Who? Him who? The dragon? Gandalf? One of the dwarves? She should have been more specific." 

Meri pointed at the sealed letter. "It says this is for Thorin. Does that mean the king from her stories?" 

"Oh, wow. I think so, yeah." 

The two of them looked at one another, neither of them sure of how to process any of this. 

"There's probably more in her study," Meri pointed out softly. 

"I'm not ready to go back in there yet." 

"But you will, because you want to know." 

"Yeah, I will. Confusticate you." 

There was, as Meri had pointed out, more in her study. Stacks of papers, more maps, notebooks full of sketches. There was also a small chest tucked into the corner between the desk and the wall, and when Frodo pried it open, he found that it was full of old letters, dated from before he was born. He selected one at random and opened it. 

_ My Dearest Burglar _ , it began, and Frodo felt a lurch in the region of his heart. There was much more to this story than he had ever known. Part of him felt betrayed. After all, this was his  _ mother _ . Why hadn't she told him? But there were also things he himself had never told her, simply because he was young and silly and easily embarrassed. Like the time he had kissed Pearl in the back garden by moonlight. Since then she giggled whenever she saw him, and Frodo couldn't honestly say he was disappointed. She was pretty and smart and a good dancer, so even if she married someone else, it had been a good first kiss. Maybe, in a much deeper way, this was like that. She hadn't shared because... because it was a matter of the heart. 

_ Many thanks for your birthday wishes, and your gift. I shall cherish them both. Even now I wear the leather band about my wrist, where it shall ever remind me of you.  _

The rest of the letter seemed to be about dwarven birthday traditions (of which there were few) and how the garden was doing well. Frodo's eyes caught on phrases like "I wish you were here," "my dearest hope," "I miss you," and of course the salutation at the end - "with love." 

"These aren't from your dad," whispered Meri, suddenly much more serious. While affection was relatively free among hobbits, courting another man's wife was just not done. It was grounds for legal action, or worse. 

Frodo wanted to answer, to point out that these letters were from before his parents were married. But... but there was that in his chest that whispered his mother hadn't stayed with her husband when her son didn't need her anymore. And his father hadn't followed her when she left. They had separated, and he was here in Brandy Hall without either of them. 

Then someone came pounding on the front door, and Frodo hastily shoved everything into the chest and slammed it shut. 

"Frodo, are you in there? There won't be any beer left for us at the Golden Perch if you don't hurry up!" Pippin was hollering loud enough to rouse the whole burrow, but it was honestly just as well. This wasn't the sort of thing he could spend too much time thinking about right now. 

"We're coming, Pip. Don't knock the door down."

He exchanged a serious look with Meri. "I get the feeling this is something you want to do alone," observed his cousin as they shut the study door and moved down the hall to take their coats and hats down from the myriad pegs on the wall. 

"It is," Frodo agreed. "Please don't tell anyone. At least, not until I've had a chance to read all of those letters."

Meri sighed dramatically, but nodded. "Now, it's time to drown our woes in the best beer in the Eastfarthing. Onward, to the Perch and its lovely barmaid." He winked roguishly at his cousin, opened the door with a flourish, and threw his arm around Pippin.

Frodo glanced back into the burrow one more time, seeing the gleam of firelight on brass where his mother's study concealed its many secrets. Silently promising to return soon, he closed and locked the door, then turned to follow his friends.


	2. Frodo's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this letter, I was attempting to explore two things: first, what actually happened, and second, the hobbitish love of genealogies and gossip. He's grown up with these stories and I think Frodo would take some pleasure in finally being able to explain it all to someone who doesn't know the details. 
> 
> Still, I understand that this is rather a lengthy letter and might bore some of you, so I've included a TL;DR at the end for you. :)

All eight letters were spread out in front of him now, the door securely locked, and a fresh sheet of paper lay before him, awaiting the stroke of his pen. Frodo let his eyes trail over each letter in turn, noting the gradual movement from formality and distance to attachment, emotion, and finally betrayal. The final two letters weren't from Thorin at all, but were from another dwarf with messy handwriting. He'd signed his letters with a large, bold K, and from that Frodo guessed the writer was Kili, the nephew of Thorin and one of the youngest of the Company. That is, if he was remembering the story right. 

After a long, quiet handful of minutes, Frodo sighed and dipped his pen into the inkwell. There was only one way to really resolve this. If that last letter was any kind of true, then his aunt had had a family elsewhere she had been made to leave, not because she wanted to return to her own home but because she felt she had no choice. Now that he was grown and she was free to leave, she had, and it was the least he could do to try, in whatever small way he could, to set things right again. To explain that she hadn't broken things off with Thorin because she was angry or disliked him. 

  
  


S.R. 1380 27 September

Frodo Brandybuck, Thain of the Shire, Son of the Master of Buckland

Brandy Hall, Buckland, the Shire

To His Majesty Thorin Thrainson Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,

Greetings.

I understand this may come as a surprise to you, hearing from the Shire after so many years of silence - or I assume that there has been silence, as I see letters here that my mother never sent to you. That said, I bear tidings which may not be received with unmixed feelings by Your Highness. Understand that I am the son of one Billa Brandybuck, formerly Billa Baggins of Bag End. 

Growing up, I heard many stories of the Quest and your Company, and I admit writing to you now is something like writing a letter to the Man in the Moon - it's hard to believe the person to whom I pen this missive will someday soon hold it in his hand and read it for himself. Just recently, my mother departed on what she called "her last adventure" and left me in charge of her things, including a small chest full of letters, some of which were obviously never answered. What I find curious, and terribly confusing, is that the stories I heard while growing up and the story she wrote down for the Red Book do not mention the "entanglement" the older hobbits speak of, nor does the Thorin in these letters resemble the Thorin in the stories. There is obviously more she never told me, but she would not have left the letters for me to find if she had not wanted them to be found. 

I can see from later letters, which it looks like my mother wrote answers to but never sent, that you were never given a full explanation of things as they fell out here in Hobbiton. I hope this will shed some light on things for you. 

My mother, Billa Brandybuck, was the granddaughter of the Old Took (Gerontius Took, by name) and one of many heirs to a rather large sum of money. The Old Took was also Thain of the Shire, which is something like a mayor, only he was in charge of keeping us safe and organizing the Shire-Muster (our version of an army, but a very poor one when measured by the standards of folk who actually know what a military is). My great-grandfather had 12 children in all - 8 sons and 4 daughters. It was never thought that the title of Thain, which passes only through the male line, would ever be in question. We are, after all, a fecund people, and "lack of children" has never been a problem. 

Unfortunately, during the Deep Winter of 1310, the White Wolves crossed the Brandywine and many hobbits were lost to their hunger, in addition to the intense cold and the lack of resources. Those who had food to spare often didn't have enough firewood to keep warm, and those who didn't have enough food starved. It was, as I am told, a hard time for all. Those of my mother's uncles that had not wandered away in search of kinder lands during the previous seasons' famine died that winter, devoured, sickened, or lost in the snow. The title might then have passed to one of the cousins, but my grandmother's eldest sister Hildigard took the title on as a "temporary solution," as the Shire was badly in need of protection at the time. She held the title until she died late in 1341, the year before my mother returned from your Quest. 

Thus the stage was set for a period in which the title of Thain was held by none while the rules around its passing needed to be rewritten. My great-aunt Hildigard, after all, had never married and had no children. 

In 1343, it was decided that the title should pass through the next eldest daughter to her firstborn son - that is, through Belladonna Baggins (nee Took), my grandmother. But by that point, Belladonna had been dead several years already, and her only child Billa Baggins was not only female but unmarried. The Elder Tooks then pressured my mother to marry, with two things in mind. 

First, that the Took fortune ought not be left in question, and second that the title of Thain needed a new  male to hold it. 

But here's where Shire politics get hopelessly tangled with Shire genealogies. The Tooks are marvelously wealthy, and hold a good deal of fertile land. Across the River, the Brandybucks are also very wealthy, hold a great deal of good land, and while the Master of Buckland isn't a strictly political position, he is considered as much a Thain of the Shire as the Took that holds the title officially. The Brandybucks, after all, are a hardy family, and much more inclined to defend what they have than give way. 

In the interior, we have the Bagginses, who thanks to my grandmother, have some claim on the Took wealth. The Bagginses insisted that the next Thain ought to be from the interior and know better what his people needed protection from, while the Tooks thought the title ought to stay "in the family," as it were. It was the Brandybucks that suggested a merger of sorts, and it was decided that my mother ought then to marry my father, Merimac Brandybuck, who was the youngest grandson of the Master of Buckland at the time. Not long after Mother and Father married, Old Gorbadoc passed on, and as my grandfather Rorimac wasn't interested in leaving his fields to tend to feasts and contracts and things, the title of Master of Buckland passed to my uncle Saradoc, and the title of Thain of the Shire passed through my mother to me. 

Since there are a great many responsibilities that my parents have handled in my name as I was growing up, they were not able to travel as they might have wanted to, but now that I'm old enough to take those responsibilities for myself, my father has happily retired to Buckland while my mother has made her way north and west to the Last Homely House, which as I understand it is still in operation in a secret valley I don't know how to get to. 

In her absence, I want to make it clear that while my mother stayed here and treated her family with all the respect they've earned over the years, and though she loved me very much indeed, I'm convinced she never truly wanted to be here. If there's any way you can help me fill in the missing pieces to this very complex puzzle, I would be deeply grateful. 

With this in mind, I have included with this letter - or will include before the spring when I may post this to the Mountain with the next caravan - a small book containing copies of the letters I found in my mother's old chest. The pages are loosely bound, and if you so desire, you can unbind them, adding your half of the story. 

I look forward to your reply with great anticipation. May it come swiftly, and bring comfort for you as well as myself. 

Yours in Friendship, 

Frodo Brandybuck, Thain of the Shire

PS

Enclosed also is a letter from my mother, which has remained sealed. I don't know what it says, but I hope it brings you comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billa was pushed into a marriage she didn't want in order to produce an heir to a title and a fortune she didn't care about. Frodo loves his mother very much, but couldn't fail to notice that the minute he came of age, she left him behind and went in search of the dwarf she basically never mentioned except as part of a group in her old stories. 
> 
> He's hoping Thorin can fill in some of the blanks for him, but more importantly he's hoping that Thorin finds peace in knowing that his mother never stopped loving him, even while she was stuck in the Shire.
> 
> PS  
> There's another letter from Billa. It's sealed, so... yeah. There's that.


	3. Post Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin receives a package from the Shire.

"From the Shire? You're sure?" The words could hardly have been more incredulous if the item in question had come from the moon. 

The young courier squinted at the parcel carefully, as though he could have misread its fine calligraphy. It was wrapped in brown paper and a little blotched, possibly from being caught in the rain. 

"The ink is a bit smudged, Your Majesty," the dwarf reported, hedging a little, "but I'm fairly certain. Not too many places have a name that looks like 'Hobbiton'." 

Thorin nodded, his gaze many miles and decades away. If he had changed at all in the years since Billa's final letter had come, it was difficult to tell. There were perhaps more wisps of grey in his dark hair, but the signs of age were more evident in his bearing. The years had bowed his shoulders beneath the weight of grief, black wings casting him ever in their shadow.

"Shall I... leave it in your study?" the courier suggested, after a respectful silence. 

A weak nod was all he received in answer, but it excused the young dwarf from what was rapidly becoming an awkward encounter with the King Under the Mountain. Bowing hastily, he waved the parcel in farewell and made his exit. 

Thorin remained where he stood for some time. One might have thought him returned to the stone of the Mountain from whence the first of his folk had been fashioned. But as he finally stirred, turning toward the door, there was new life in his eyes, like the uncovering of coals long buried. Memory lurked in the king's blue gaze. Memory, and hope. 

He had a soft word with the guard at his study door. The latter nodded and hurried away. All meetings would be canceled. All business would be rescheduled. 

As Thorin closed the door, locked it, and settled heavily into the chair before his desk, he saw again glimpses the intervening years had veiled. Billa, smiling, sandy curls dancing on the breeze coming off the Lake, the way she'd looked that night at the feast in Esgaroth. Billa, nestling into his side the way she had those precious few nights between Laketown and the Mountain. Billa, looking at him with such deep concern it nearly broke his heart, the way she had when he lay gravely wounded in the healers' tents. It seemed at once so near and so far, a reality he sometimes doubted in his own recall. 

A familiar pain twinged in his chest, and he sighed, reaching for the parcel. The return address, as the courier had noted, was smudged, with only the words "Hobbiton" and "Tuckborough" being relatively distinct. But the destination was intact, its lines composed of a script Thorin thought both familiar and unfamiliar. Perhaps Billa's hand had changed in the years? 

Gently, he unbound the parcel and opened it, wrappings rustling crisply in the silence as he extracted what seemed to be a bundle of letters, all bound together on one side with thick thread. He leafed through them quickly, astonished to recognize his own letters, sent to Billa so many years ago. But he did not read them, not fully anyway. There was too much in them of grief, too much he couldn’t yet bear to relive. 

Out from amongst them slipped an envelope, dropping to the desk with a papery whisper. Thorin set the bundle aside momentarily, reaching for the envelope. It was addressed to him, again in the vaguely familiar script, and closed with the same wax seal Billa had always used. That quickened his pulse, and he closed his eyes a moment to collect himself. 

This envelope he now held might finally offer the answers he had long despaired of receiving, a voice coming to him, as it were, from another life, a life he had parted from at great cost. A spectre of the past had returned now to haunt him, or so it felt. 

Opening his eyes once more, he sucked in a breath, broke the seal, and drew out the folded letter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this chapter is so short (and devastating) I'll post a second chapter today - the first in a series of letters that will carry is through the next couple months. :)


	4. Letter #1 - Silly Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billa's first letter after the Quest.

S.R. 1342, 20th July

Billa Baggins

Bag End, Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, The Shire

Dear Thorin,

I know that we agreed that if I left the Mountain, I would surrender all right to you and your family. The Shire is my home, and nothing will change that. I would have pined for its hills and its soft sun if I had stayed - I think we both know that. But that doesn't mean that I've forgotten you and all you did for me.

Look at this. I've started off with exactly the sort of muck I promised myself I wouldn't write. You and the boys and the rest of the Company will of course always have a special place in my heart. I miss you all dearly. You'll let them know, won't you, that I'm thinking of them?

I wanted to write to tell you that I've arrived safely at home. There was a terrific ruckus that first day - apparently my family had decided I must have died on the Quest, and were in the process of selling off most of my possessions. I put a stop to that right away, let me tell you, though I did end up buying back quite a few of my favorite things. Do you remember the big bed you slept in that night when you were here to offer me the burglar position? That's one of the things I needed to get back, though Valar only know how they even got it out of that room. I've had Holman and Hamfast take it apart so I could fit it back through the door. It's not a very good guest room without a bed, and I want it ready in case any of you come by for a visit.

I don't expect it, of course, especially not so soon. Perhaps never. But I do miss you very much.

Someone left a little pouch of tobacco here. It has blue drawstrings; perhaps it's Bofur's? Don't tell him it was mostly full. I've been taking out a little and letting it burn in the tray, just so I can get a bit of that smell. I would never smoke it - bitter, coarse stuff and not half so woody and sweet as Longbottom Leaf, but it reminds me of those nights around the campfire, and some nights I miss those times so badly it's almost a hurt. The tobacco smell helps.

You're taking care of yourself, aren't you? I worry sometimes that you're not eating enough, or more likely, you're not sleeping enough. Obsessed with getting everything done 'just so,' it would be just like you to stay up at all hours just to see it done to your standards. Not that I think your work ethic is a bad thing. Only that I wish you would think a little more of yourself, and let your standards relax a little when it comes to getting to sleep at a decent hour.

Of course, this is all silly assumptions on my part. I have no doubt that Fili and Kili are taking good care of you, just like I asked them do. You deserve better than you allow yourself, Thorin, and if you remember that then life will be very much more pleasant than it has been for you before. You're just so hard on yourself, I don't know how you could ever have expected to remember how to smile. Laughter and love are just as important as duty.

Now look at me, rambling on again about things that are none of my business.

I'll finish my letter by letting you know that all is well here in the Shire, and that I'm looking forward to your response. Be well and take care of yourself.

Tell Kili and Fili not to make too much fuss, if they can help it.

Let Dwalin know that I'll have his brother's gift finished by next winter, I'll send it along in the spring.

I've enclosed the recipe for my Grandma Took's apple pie that Bombur wanted, and the pattern for a quilted scarf for Ori.

Give my love to Gloin, Oin, and Bifur, and tell Bofur about his missing tobacco pouch. I'll send it along with the next post.

Tell Nori I've not found the thing she asked me to look for, but the tea Dori liked so well was a mixture of Darjeeling and Rosehip, with a little cinnamon.

I think of you all often.

Yours Always,

  
B. Baggins


	5. Longing for Campfire

TA 2942, 11th day of Âfvalasirkha

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain

Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, Rhovanion

Billa,

Forgive me how long I left you awaiting this correspondence. As you well know, I do nothing by halves, and it was some time before I found the hours required to do your letter justice. The days are long and tiresome, and in the absence of peril comes policy. I think I preferred the former.

The Mountain is quieter now. These halls of stone are colder for lack of the burglar who once warmed them. While I am relieved to learn of your safe arrival, a few in the Company lamented they had not been there to drive the scoundrels from your home, just as your actions helped drive the dragon from ours.

Fili and Kili all but tore your letter from the courier's hand before I could lay claim, if that is any sign of how well they have weathered your absence. They made a good deal of noise about your usage of the word "fuss" in reference to them, then proceeded to do just that.

The others thank you for your kind inclusions, though far less boisterously than my nephews (with the exception of Bombur, who was most grateful for your grandmother's recipe). Bofur requests you keep the tobacco pouch until he passes through the Shire in the spring, when he will most certainly reclaim it.

You speak of our journey, and I must confess I too think often and fondly of those days. The Quest long since accomplished, in sleep I wish for nothing more than a return to the campfire, Durin's crown wavering in the sky above, and the truest of hearts by my side. Whatever else may change, one thing is constant as the guiding star. You will always be my burglar.

Yours,

Thorin Oakenshield

P.S. Fili and Kili demanded I enclose a note from them, unread. I have reluctantly agreed, if only to spare myself further importuning. I apologize in advance for its (no doubt) questionable contents.

_ On a separate slip of paper, in an excited hand: _

We've been trying to make Thorin behave himself for a while now. You should see him, Billa, still up to his old antics. Spends the day and half the night at his desk, barely eating. When he's not at that, or some council meeting, he's staring into the fire with that "look." You know the one. Please talk some sense into him, or better yet, come back and make him be sensible. He simply can't be left to his own devices. It's not safe. Mam says so.

Also, we have NOT been fussing.

Yours,

Kili & Fili


	6. A Question of Beards

S.R. 1343, 29th May

Bag End, Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, The Shire

Dear Thorin, 

I received your letter a week ago, but since then I've been so busy with preparing for the Spring Faire that the poor thing has sat unmoving on my desk since its arrival. I should apologize to both you and the boys. I feel like every day I delay is a wasted one. 

The messenger I received last week could hardly have stirred up more interest if he had pounded a drum on the way through town. A young dwarf, maybe about Fili's age, with his beard dyed blue. I wanted very much to ask him about it, but it seemed rude to do so. Instead, I'll ask you - did this have some meaning that I'm missing? Did it have to do with the season? Or maybe a holiday? I'm intrigued. 

But honestly, whether or not you answer that question, I can hardly wait for your reply. This past year has been an eventful one, and knowing that your life is going on without me is almost like clinging to that blasted barrel, wondering if I'd just drowned all my friends, or if I would even survive to see what happened next. I do wish I could come back, but there are certain things here that I'm needed for. I don't know if I ever told you, but my mother came from a very wealthy family, and due to some curiosities of hobbit inheritance law, my position is a unique one. Leaving now would put the whole Westfarthing into chaos. Alright, maybe not the whole Westfarthing, but a goodly portion of it, at least. 

But I promise, once I've found some kind of resolution, you will be the first person I write to, and hopefully, the first person I'm free to see on my own terms. You have my word, for whatever the word of a burglar is worth. 

On a related but entirely self-serving note, I've begun the process of chronicling our journey by compiling some of my own journal entries and filling in what I can remember. I don't suppose Ori would be willing to share notes with me? I know it's a lot to ask, but I really want to do the Quest justice, even if the most important parts are those which the hobbits here will care about the least. Accuracy is something I value, even if it's a little out of place in this sort of retelling. 

For Thorin's Eyes Only

I've been informed by a reliable source that you're not taking care of yourself. As I had guessed, you're skipping meals, not getting enough sleep, and never taking time for yourself. Dear heart, I know that the welfare of your people and the running of your kingdom mean the world to you, but there's much more to your people than simply what they eat and the quality of their forges. 

I can't tell you how much I wish I could be there to remind you to go to bed, and to eat your supper, and to take some time to relax. Where before you were prevented from such luxuries by necessity or duty, now I suspect they serve as a crutch for you. I fear that you think yourself not strong enough to face those quiet hours with yourself. You stare into the fire with "that look," is what the boys said. I remember that look. 

Your eyebrows would pull together and you would be a hundred leagues away, thinking things I never really understood and making plans you never shared with me. As much as I hated "that look," because it meant you had gone somewhere I couldn't reach, I find myself thinking that if only I could see it again... maybe I could do something about it. 

What I dared not say then, I now tell you with all my heart (and from the very safe distance of half a world away). I left because I was afraid. I was afraid I didn't belong, that I never had, and that I never would. You had your family and your kingdom - you had your home. And all I could think about was how empty and sad my own home seemed, now that I remembered what it was like to have a family again. 

I miss you so much it's almost a pain, and I wish I had the freedom to leave this place, but my family needs me, as yours needs you. Except I'm not a king and my family wouldn't have one, even if she wore the Baggins name. 

Please write back very soon, and remember me fondly. I was never very brave or clever, but I did my very best for you, and I would do it again. 

Your Burglar, 

~~ B. Baggins ~~

Billa

  
  


PS - For The Boys

I've done what I can, but since I can't be there myself, please keep an eye on your uncle for me. I know there's only so much you can do, after all he's Thorin and no one changes Thorin's mind but Thorin himself, but anything you can contrive to keep him healthy will be something for which I would be grateful. I love you both. Stay out of trouble. 

PPS   
Kili, if there's a way to make it happen, don't let him forget how to smile. 

BB


	7. Betrayed

TA 2943, 21st day of Âfghelekvust

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain

Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, Rhovanion

Bravest and cleverest of burglars-

I hope this letter finds you well. It's been a month since yours arrived here, and will doubtless be another at least before mine reaches you. When it does, the last of the drifts will have finally gone, giving way to the snowbells you so loved. 

The blue bearded courier illustrates an unfortunate fashion catching on amongst the younger dwarves. Dís and I find it outlandish, and have forbidden Fíli and Kíli from doing anything of the sort. (Whether this mandate is respected or not remains to be seen.) 

You never spoke much of your family and heritage on the Quest, though Gandalf told me some things. As such, I understand a little of the complexity of your situation. I hold out some hope a satisfactory resolution will be found, though what that might be may look different in your eyes than mine. 

I've spoken with Ori concerning your chronicle, and she seems delighted at the prospect of such an endeavor. She will send her notes as soon as she can, though it may follow slowly upon this letter, as she wishes to post copies rather than originals. I must admit I too am intrigued by the idea, though regretfully my appearance in any such account, if honestly told, will do me little credit. 

Balin has set to recording a history of the events leading up to the Quest and all that followed, though I suspect his style will be rather more dry than yours, and feature far less of the sorts of things that might interest your own folk. 

So I am betrayed by my nephews. I knew I should not have let them trouble you. But since you now seem to know how it is with me, I will not deny it. The days since your going have been full of duties I relish little, and while I could never resent my obligations, I can no longer find in them the relief I seek. Even the fire seems cold and lifeless now, and offers no answers. But I do not wish to dwell overmuch on what cannot be mended. 

The day you departed, I saw that something was on your heart, but did not delve further. I even suspected Dain's words were to blame. Yet I said nothing, feigned indifference, at least until the very last. Would that I had done otherwise. When you had given farewell to the others and set your face to the wilds beyond, I came to the gate and stood watching. I willed you to look back at me, to give me any sign, any reason, any hope. But none came. 

Pride soothed the ache for a month, but fell away quickly. The only relief was found in duty, and in dreamless sleep, when it could be had. I wait for time to heal, as the sayings promise. 

At least now we are both explained, even if we remain the way we are. 

Your confusticating dwarf,

-Thorin Oakenshield 

P.S. Fili and Kili wish to assure you they will do their best to, as they put it, "save me from myself." So far this mostly seems to mean hiding important desk work until I agree to eat, locking an angry goat in the council chamber, and adding sleeping tinctures to my ale. If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect you put them up to this.


	8. Worrying From Afar

S.R. 1343 13th August  
Bag End, Bagshot Row, Habbiton, The Shire

Dearest Thorin, 

I admit that I did put them up to it. Since I can't be there to remind you when supper time rolls around, or to persuade you to sleep when you need it, then I must rely on others to do it for me. I'm not sure what they meant by locking a goat in the council chamber, but I can't say that I wouldn't have resorted to hiding your work or drugging your ale if I thought it would improve things for you. Perhaps that makes me as much a pest as ever I was, stealing the Arkenstone "for your own good." At what point is the action bad on its own account, and the motivations no more important than the color of the sky? 

Perhaps I oughtn't have said anything to them. I know you can care for yourself. My worry is and has been not that you can't, but that you won't, and I wish very much that I might be there to scold you properly for skipping meals and brooding when you could be celebrating a day's work well done. 

My cousin had a very similar problem for a while, now that I think on it. She spent so much time tending her garden and keeping the local faunts from trampling her potatoes that she never seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps that is an unkind summary, but it's true. Never did I see her simply taking pride in the garden she had made. She was grumpy, tired, and unwilling to take a day away from the plants that depended on her, for the simple reason that it was her garden and no one else could be trusted with it. But I wonder what the point is to having a garden if it's not a pleasure to you to have it. 

In the same way, I wonder what the point is of regaining a home, even a home you love, if it brings you no joy. You have your family and your friends about you, Thorin. Is not that a reason to take pleasure in what you have made for them? 

But I'm sure there's something about this that I simply don't understand. It wouldn't be the first time. You have always been the best of leaders, the best of kings, and the best of dwarves. Nothing will change that - not gold or war or myself. I do ask myself, though, if I might not have done more good by staying than I did by leaving. I know my family here needs me - but only inasmuch as my disappearance opened a can of worms that cannot be closed again. My inheritance is a fish pulled from the water, no longer fresh, no longer pretty to look at, but still desirable to the hungry. 

Perhaps it's foolish of me to ask this, but I do want to know. Assuming I am never able to return, and that I must stay here in the Shire... is there anyone else for you? Is there someone you trust to look after you, to take care of the small things when you're tired, that... that might be able to make you smile? I know you have your sister and the boys, not to mention Balin and Dori and the rest of the Company. But you know what I mean. If I am never able to come back to the Mountain, will you be able to open up to someone the way you did for me? Will you even consider letting someone care for you, the way I did when I was able? 

There are still many opportunities ahead of both of us, and asking this now seems likely to only give us both reason to brood over the fire tonight. I simply (and selfishly) want to be assured that you will be looked after, one way or another. 

The leaves are starting to turn colors outside, the blackberries are ripening, and every garden on Bagshot Row seems full to overflowing with squash and wildflowers and other wonderful things. My gardener's apprentice has taken his place at last, and I must say that having his steady hands about the garden is a blessing. I think you would like him. His name is Hamfast, and though he's my junior by ten years or so, I think he'll be a good sort. He's even talked of expanding my garden next year, if I'm willing to put in the time to help him shift the fence. I think I am, especially if it means that I'll have more space for those tomato starts that I was promised. 

Sitting out here on my bench in the evening light, everything smells of damp earth and green things. It's been raining today, which is why I had time to compose this letter, as long as it is. There are still things that need to be done - the hinges on my gate need to be oiled, and I need to make a list for the market tomorrow. But the things that need doing aren't important enough to make me stop writing. Not right now. 

For this moment, at least, it feels like you're sitting next to me. And as soon as I sign and close this letter, that feeling will fade. I don't want it to. I'm tired of being alone. 

Take good care of yourself, Thorin. I need you to be well when things finally work out, one way or another. 

Your very tired burglar,

Billa


	9. Not Forgotten

TA 2943, 9th day of Áfnarag  
Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain  
Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, Rhovanion

Dearest Billa,

I hope you are not so weary now as you were when you wrote your previous letter. I felt the weight of your burden as surely as if it were my own. 

By now your beautiful garden must be faded and quiet, just as Erebor's fields and hot houses sleep beneath frost. They flourished this year under the care of Dori and Ori, owing to their excellent training in the Shire's best growing methods. The pines we planted in rows scattered the wind when it came strongly up the plain, sheltering the tenderest plants and offering partial shade during the day. We brought forth a yield even a hobbit might've been proud of, though sadly lacking in tomatoes. Mahalmerag's feast tables will never have seen so much in the way of vegetables (naturally, Dwalin frowns at me severely on this point). 

As ever, you've a keen insight. It is hard to reforge a mind so shaped in such ways, looking ever elsewhere for contentment, or at least the glimmer of it. 

There was a time I thought the reclaiming of Erebor - and the taking of vengeance upon the Great Worm - would be my fulfilment. But long before those goals had been achieved, and not the least as neatly as I'd envisioned, my desires had turned. You know my meaning. 

Then came the gold, and its deadly call. And from my reawakening, the desire for death, for such was the price of madness, and the solution that suited. When the battle did not claim me, and strength returned, I knew my duty to my people must prevail, and so for love of them I spoke my vows and took the raven crown. 

You must know by now, it was never what I wanted. What I wanted lay elsewhere. But the passing months bring peace, even degrees of contentment. Whatever else, I am glad of kin and Company, and grateful for work that renews and restores.

You ask me if I may yet find another who will look after me as you once did. There are things you surely do not understand about Dwarves - ignorance I must pardon, as such matters are not discussed. For my part, I do not wish to entertain such thoughts. What will be will be, and my acceptance will follow when the time comes, as it must. But as you continually bid me, I also reassure you this far: I will try to look after myself, and not resist the well-meant ministrations of court and kin. 

Likewise, I wish there were something I could do to ease the circumstances of your inheritance, and the place of loneliness into which they have brought you. At the least, I hope that in this letter you find a companionship - even if only of minutes - as tangible as the hand which now sets ink to page. A hand that once held yours, and has not forgotten.

Yours,

-Thorin Oakenshield


	10. Late Frost

S.R. 1344 28th March

Bag End, Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, The Shire

Dearest Thorin, 

You don't know how much it comforts me to know you'll be making an effort at least to take care of yourself. I'll admit I can hardly stand to read your letter again, though. Even the paper on which you wrote feels sad. I'm sorry to have done that to you. 

Spring is only just starting here in the Shire, as the frost held on much longer than we expected. I was actually very surprised to receive your letter before the earth had properly thawed, though I gather the weather in your part of the world has been rather warmer than it has been here, which I find exceedingly odd. 

Sometime next week, with luck, we'll be able to break ground and start airing the soil in preparation for planting. Hamfast and I moved the fence during the last days of autumn, so this year my garden will be larger than it was. I started to worry during the winter if I might have time for a larger garden, but good old Ham and his wife Iris have promised not to let it go wanting. In exchange, I'm giving over a portion of the side garden to Ham to plant whatever he likes. I think he's going to plant potatoes and carrots, which will be lovely to have later on in the year. Last year's carrots turned out spicier than I like with that dry spell just before harvest. 

That gift I promised for Balin will be coming with this letter, like I promised, and I've also enclosed a note for Nori - she's been very patient in waiting for me to get around to her request. 

To ensure you don't forget me too quickly, I've sent along something for you, too. ~~Thorin,~~ ~~ I miss you like nothing I've ever known before, and I wish more than anything ~~ I'm afraid I never learned when your birthday was, but happy birthday - late or early, I don't think it matters. I wanted to give this to you regardless. 

I look forward to hearing from you again soon. Let the boys know that I'm planning something for them with my next letter. 

Much love, 

Your burglar - Billa


End file.
